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  Synopsis

  Whiskey Davis, High Queen of the Sanguire, funnels her former street wiles into diplomatic channels and alliances with governments as she consolidates her growing power with the help of Margaurethe O’Toole and Valmont. Her maturing leadership is the only hope for peace among the Sanguire.

  But European partisans seek retribution for an ancient injustice perpetrated by Whiskey’s previous incarnation. One will stop at nothing to see her downfall. Another views her as a stepping stone to his own glorious future.

  Sanguire pursue their long lives imbibing both blood and power. Misadventure and tragedy befall Whiskey, causing the aching loss of yet another of her beloved people. She falls headlong into a plot of betrayal and death. Does she have a breaking point? All who have wondered will soon have their answer.

  The mesmerizing saga of the Sanguire from D Jordan Redhawk follows the bloody balance of an ancient conflict between undying races.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Synopsis

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Other Books by D Jordan Redhawk

  Dedication

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Cast of Characters

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Glossary

  Bella Books

  Copyright © 2015 by D Jordan Redhawk

  Bella Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 10543

  Tallahassee, FL 32302

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  First Bella Books Edition 2015

  eBook released 2015

  Editor: Ruth Stanley

  Cover Designer: Linda Callaghan

  ISBN: 978-1-59493-438-4

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Other Books by D Jordan Redhawk

  Broken Trails

  Orphan Maker

  Lichii Ba’Cho

  Tiopa Ki Lakota

  Freya’s Tears

  Sanguire Series

  The Strange Path

  Beloved Lady Mistress

  Inner Sanctuary

  Dedication

  Anna Trinity Redhawk—I couldn’t have done this without your unconditional love and support. Thank you for always being there!

  About the Author

  D Jordan Redhawk lives in Portland, Oregon where she works in the hospitality industry. (But don’t make the mistake of thinking she’s hospitable.) Her household consists of her wife of twenty-seven years, three crazy cats and a white buffalo Beanie Buddy named Roam.

  For more information on D Jordan Redhawk, visit her website: http://www.djordanredhawk.com

  Acknowledgments

  Man, you are good.

  Yeah, I’m talking to you. You! The person holding this book in hot little hands and reading these words. You, the reader!

  You’ve waited so long for the final book of the Sanguire series… That speaks of sheer patience and dedication right there! Not many writers can boast having a readership that does such things. A lot of folks with less gumption would have forgotten the Sanguire by now, moved on to better and shinier things. You must have really liked the previous books to still be here.

  Thank you for waiting all these years for this last installment.

  Thank you for the occasional random emails asking for information.

  Thank you for being you!

  I’d also like to acknowledge a couple of other folks while I’m at it. Anita Pawlowski, Shawn Cady and Anna Redhawk were my first readers. They’ve waited a lot longer to see this final product, having begun sending me feedback in the dark ages of 2006! Troopers, each of ’em!

  Added to that list is Susan Jacobsen. To support a friend after a horrific car accident, I offered a character auction. Susan was the winner. Talk about patience! She’s had to wait three years to see her character reach print! Susan, you’re awesome! My apologies for the delayed gratification! I hope the Jake you see in these pages is one of which you can be proud!

  All right. I’m done. Well? Don’t let me stop you! Turn the page! Get started!

  Cast of Characters

  The Davis Group

  Father James Castillo–board of directors–European

  Chano–board of directors–American Indian

  Jenna “Whiskey” Davis–Ninsumgal, president of The Davis Group–American

  Dikeledi–board of directors–African

  Reynhard Dorst–Sañur Gasum, board of directors–European

  Margaurethe O’Toole–Ki’an Gasan, CEO of The Davis Group–European

  Valmont Strauss–Sublugal Sañar, board of directors–African-European

  Phineas Blackwell–Whiskey’s chauffeur, cousin of Margaurethe O’Toole

  Susan “Jake” Jacobsen–Zi Agada, Whiskey’s primary bodyguard–European

  Sasha Kopecki–Ugula Aga’us, Captain of Whiskey’s personal guard–European

  Sithathor–Whiskey’s chambermaid–Indian

  Wahca–Whiskey’s maternal grandmother–American Indian

  Zica–Whiskey’s maternal aunt–American Indian

  Whiskey’s Pack

  Alphonse–brother to Zebediah–American

  Chaniya–daughter of Dikeledi–African

  Daniel Gleirscher–Whiskey’s personal physician–German

  Nupa Olowan–nephew of Chano–American Indian

  Zebediah–brother to Alphonse–American

  The Agrun Nam

  Lionel Bentoncourt–Nam Lugal, chairman

  Aiden Cassadie–Sabra Sañar, Diplomat

  Bertrada Nijmege–Aga Maskim Sañar, Judiciary of the High Court

  Samuel McCall–Maskim Sañar, Judiciary of the Low Court

  Ernst Rosenberg�
�Sa’kan Sañar, Master of Treasury

  Elisibet Vasillas–Ninsumgal of the European Sanguire, assassinated by Valmont in 1629

  Nahib–former Nam Lugal, brutally executed by Ninsumgal Elisibet Vasillas in 1629

  Francesca Bentoncourt–Lionel Bentoncourt’s wife

  Orlaith O’Toole–Ki’an Gasan Margaurethe O’Toole’s mother

  Tireachan O’Toole–Ki’an Gasan Margaurethe O’Toole’s father

  Baltje–Nam Lugal Bentoncourt’s aide

  Alfred Basco–Saggina, European Sanguire magistrate to the Portland area

  A glossary of terms is located at the end of the book.

  Chapter One

  The day was still new with promise. Indirect sunlight brought out the reddish highlights of Margaurethe O’Toole’s shoulder-length mahogany hair. Though slight of form, she was tall, giving her a waif-like appearance. Today she wore a black business suit designed to offset this perceived delicacy. Deep-set emerald eyes scanned her surroundings as her mind did the same. She felt the presence of the two aga’usi before she saw them flanking the double doors leading into the executive offices. She nodded her approval with a smile.

  “Good morning, Ki’an Gasan Margaurethe.” A guard opened one door.

  “Good morning, Peiter. Thank you. Is Father Castillo still here?”

  “Yes, Ki’an Gasan. And Sublugal Sañar Valmont is also in audience with the Ninsumgal.”

  Margaurethe let that information pass without comment as she slipped into the office sitting room. Regardless of what had transpired three months ago, she didn’t trust Valmont. In light of his involvement in her rescue from the hands of the Sanguire assassin, she’d been willing to ease her negative opinion of him…until she’d heard of his confession during her absence. He’d had designs on kidnapping Whiskey and spiriting her away to Europe. Margaurethe’s discovery of his original traitorous intentions toward Whiskey hadn’t facilitated confidence. That he still served as an advisor was a point of contention between her and Whiskey.

  The Human executive assistant smiled as she stood. She skirted the monstrosity of a reception desk, a stalwart symbol of final defense protecting Whiskey from the uninitiated petitioner. “They’re in her office, Ki’an Gasan. Would you like me to make you tea?”

  “Thank you, Helen. That would be lovely.” The assistant went one way and Margaurethe the other. She paused at Whiskey’s door, the tendrils of her mind reaching out until it brushed against a number of essences and sensations on the other side. The only one that mattered was the aroma of roses, blood and a slight hint of water. The aroma grew stronger as Whiskey noted Margaurethe’s mental contact and strengthened it. With a polite tap at the door, Margaurethe opened it and stepped inside.

  The interior was standard as far as offices went. Whiskey was the president of The Davis Group, and money hadn’t been spared to fill the office with expensive furniture. Her desk alone was a work of art with engraved carvings that had taken artisans months of toil to complete. Dark wooden shelves held tomes and scrolls from all the ages. The only incongruent piece was an ancient scarred writing table made of pine pushed against the wall behind the desk.

  Two of the occupants rose as Margaurethe entered. “No, don’t get up,” she said, waving both Father James Castillo and Whiskey Davis into their seats. They both ignored her. Valmont, ever the annoyance, didn’t even make the attempt, a sardonic grin lighting his dark face. Margaurethe refused to react to his impertinence though she felt an irrational tickle of aggravation at his petty behavior. Instead, she experienced satisfaction at the sight of the fourth person in the room standing behind Whiskey—a personal bodyguard that Margaurethe had hired immediately after the kidnapping and assassination fiasco three months ago. She smiled a greeting to everyone, even Valmont, taking Whiskey’s offered hand and coming around the desk. Bending in for a kiss, she suddenly wished they were alone. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  “Not a thing.” Whiskey wore black cargo pants and a white button-up shirt. The sleeves were partially rolled up her forearms, revealing the twining tails of two dragons on her right arm. A delicate golden locket rested in the hollow at the base of her throat. Her light blond hair hung straight past her shoulders. She’d tied back the sides, leaving the back loose, and long bangs framed her oval face. The only other jewelry she wore was a signet ring on her left middle finger, the large onyx stone carved with the likeness of a scorpion. It was the sigil of her house, one she’d researched extensively before deciding upon. Margaurethe remained uncertain as to how the Agrun Nam would react to it when they arrived, providing they knew much of scorpions to begin with. Scorpions were solitary hunters, vicious and poisonous, apt to sting first and investigate later. That Valmont had heartily approved of the design hadn’t eased Margaurethe’s mind.

  “Actually, I was just preparing to leave.” Castillo hadn’t returned to his seat. He was shorter than Margaurethe, though of similar stature. His dark brown hair was wavy and hung to his shoulders and a neatly trimmed beard graced his face. Margaurethe had never seen him wearing anything but the cassock and collar of his order. An ornate Gothic-style cross around his neck was his only jewelry. “I’ve about bored My Gasan to tears with ancient history.”

  “He’s not lying.” Whiskey rolled her eyes.

  “I should hope not. He’s a priest.” Margaurethe smiled. “He’d hardly set a proper example for his flock if he had difficulty speaking the truth.” Having ignored Valmont for as long as politely possible, she finally did more than glance at him. He looked as dusty brown as ever, both in clothing and skin color. His hair was an elaborate mop of dreadlocks, and a goatee circled his sardonic lips. “And how are you this morning, Valmont?”

  His eyes widened in a parody of surprise. “Why I’m spectacular, Ki’an Gasan Margaurethe. So kind of you to ask.”

  With effort, the smile remained on Margaurethe’s face. Her duties to Valmont complete, she turned back to Castillo. “Actually, Father, I was wondering if perhaps we could speak a moment.”

  “Certainly, Ki’an Gasan. I’ve nothing scheduled until this afternoon.”

  Whiskey raised an inquisitive eyebrow, and Margaurethe smiled reassurance. She felt the featherlight touch of her lover’s mind, meeting it with her own. The connection lasted only a moment before Whiskey lifted their entwined hands to kiss Margaurethe’s knuckles.

  Again Margaurethe wished they were alone. The past three months had seen many issues settled between them. Margaurethe didn’t know if it was her view of Whiskey that had changed, or that Whiskey had indeed grown into her capabilities. She didn’t care. What mattered was that something fundamental had altered between them after Whiskey had put down the assassin, Andri. An emotional stumbling block within Margaurethe had disappeared and she no longer spent vast hours worrying for her lover’s safety. She glanced over Whiskey’s shoulder at the personal bodyguard standing silently in the corner. That probably doesn’t hurt, either.

  With some effort Margaurethe released Whiskey and stepped toward the door. Castillo preceded her, opened the door and bowed farewell to Whiskey, gesturing Margaurethe to lead the way.

  Margaurethe’s last vision was Valmont hastening to his feet to give a formal bow and a jaunty wink. She couldn’t help the sour turn of her lips as Castillo closed the door behind them. “That man is irrepressible.”

  “Perhaps.” Castillo smiled at the executive secretary hustling toward them. “But he teaches Whiskey things neither of us can.”

  Margaurethe hmphed. She graciously accepted the cup of tea Helen brought, accepting apologies for its lateness and expressing her own for having to rush away. She took the cup with her as she led the way toward the executive dining room. The room was empty, as expected for a Sunday morning. Most of the management staff that resided on property were either sleeping in or enjoying their breakfasts in the resident lounge on the fifteenth floor. If it weren’t for the impending arrival of the Agrun Nam she and Whiskey would still be abed as wel
l.

  She took Castillo to a table in the back, far enough away from the entrance and kitchen access doors to keep from being overheard should someone enter. No one would be on duty in the kitchen today anyway. If the Agrun Nam chose to remain on property, they could utilize the resident lounge like everyone else. Besides, a welcome reception with plenty of food had been planned for later this evening. She put the never-ending to-do list out of her mind. “I’ll get right to it, Father. You work closely with Whiskey. How is she?”

  If he thought her question odd, he didn’t say so. “She’s doing well. She’s yet to be stumped by any of her lessons. Quick to think on her feet. Her critical reasoning is growing by leaps and bounds, and she’s surpassed me in math and sciences. Which reminds me, you’ll need to find a tutor for her in those areas.”

  A frown creased Margaurethe’s face. “That’s not what I meant.”

  Castillo studied her, as if gauging his response. Just as Margaurethe prepared to demand an answer, he spoke. “She’s in pain. A friend under her protection has died, the love of her life was seriously endangered, she killed an elder in her first formal adult duel, and at least one of her mortal enemies will be arriving this afternoon to live within her defenses.”

  Margaurethe sat back, the words slapping her with their bluntness.

  “But this is nothing new to you, Ki’an Gasan.”

  “I know. But I’m too close.” Margaurethe stared into her tea, not finding answers. “She hides things from me.”

  “She doesn’t want to hurt you.”

  Her lips thinned. “It’s not me who’s hurting.”

  Castillo leaned forward. “Perhaps not, but it’s the only way she knows to protect you.”